B-Movie Scream Queen
by Rumpel0000
Summary: Jordan moved to Haddonfield to get away from her problems, not to become the object of obsession to two psychotic murderers. Texas Chainsaw Massacre x Halloween Crossover Written for clevernotbrilliant's 'Anything But a Love Triangle' challenge.
1. House Behind the Trees

**_Notes:_** Excludes anything from Texas Chainsaw Massacre II (1986), Texas Chainsaw Massacre: the Next Generation [TCM IV](1994), and Texas Chainsaw Massacre: the Beginning (2006). Will take into account primarily the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), Texas Chainsaw Massacre III (1990), and Leatherface (2017), and borrows some ideas from Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3D (2013). That being said, I'll be using the name, Jedidiah Sawyer/Leatherface [if you don't know, the TCM movies are notorious for changing Leatherface's real name-so I had to pick one].

Primarily takes into account the original Halloween (1978).

Everything in this story takes place after all movie events.

Displacing time, here-moving everything to modern-day. Also, taking some artistic liberties and moving Leatherface to Haddonfield-I'll explain why later. Okie dokie?

Written for clevernotbrilliant's "Anything but a Love Triangle Challenge", given the instructions: "write a love triangle in a new and fun way". Challenge accepted.

Bear with me.

* * *

 _Chapter Title is a lyric from 'Cherry Hill' by the Creepshow_

 _I suggest that you read the Story Notes. You don't have to but some of the information might be useful._

 _Warnings/Advisories: Sensitive topics (including references to torture, murder, and cannibalism). Swearing and violence_

* * *

 _"This is a horror story I don't wanna be inside..._

 _trapped inside a nightmare-will I make it out alive?"_

-Cherry Hill by the Creepshow

* * *

 _Wednesday, 31 October 2018_

 _Haddonfield, Illinois_

 _Haddonfield Elementary School_

Jordan nibbled anxiously on the rubbery pink eraser at the end of her pencil, watching the clock count down its final minutes to the bell. The sluggish and resounding _tock,_ tock _, tock_ of the timepiece stifled the excited chatter her class of fourth-graders into the background. Each second dragged into the next, the large black hand seemingly taking an eternity to roll over every tick.

 _Tip-tip! Tap-tap-tap-tap!_

Eyes widening fractionally, Jordan's attention was torn back to the students.

In the front row, Ian Roth stooped from his seat to scoop up the markers that had rolled from his desk. He glanced up, catching, locking eyes with her before giving her a sheepish smile and returning to his Halloween project-just a crafty task she'd given them to speed up the last leg of the final block.

Shaking her head, Jordan sighed inwardly. Doctor Roster had her completely shaken, so much that she swore she was losing her mind-hearing things (footsteps behind her as she walked at night, strange bangs and clinks that the old farmhouse she'd bought earlier in the year didn't make before) and, as of this morning, seeing things (the silhouette of a man in the kitchen window in the first flush of daybreak, gone as quickly as it'd appeared).

It didn't take Roster long to first contact her after she'd moved into her home last April and he had been an ever-persistent presence in her life ever since.

* * *

 _14 April 2018_

 _North Haddonfield, Illinois_

 _The Sawyer Estates_

The winter-worn lawn was overgrown and tangled with budding dogtooth violets and foamflower, creeping across the cracking cobbled path that led to the old farmhouse. It was probably too big for her, too old, with too many problems to fix, but Jordan couldn't pass up the potential.

The former owner had died without any successors, causing the old farm property to be released to the state. The state held a closed auction to unload the property and Jordan was pleasantly surprised to find out that she'd won the bid for only $40,000-an astoundingly low price in an area whose median ran in the mid-200 thousands.

For a solid two days, Jordan was able to enjoy her good fortune-a chance to start over new after her messy divorce in a new state far away from where she was. She walked the expanse of the estate, taking note of the greying, crooked barn to the back of the property, leading out to the empty stables and muddied pig-pen, old farm equipment scattered haphazardly on every inch of shelving or bench space across the property.

A tool shed in the back of the house housed a horde of peculiar rusty gadgets: barbed wire, bear traps, hammers, screwdrivers, hand saws, and all sorts of blades, among other things, hung upon the back wall with some sort of care. They filled the far wall, save a solitary, sizable empty gap.

The house itself was in desperate need of repair between the broken planks of wood on the front porch, peeling, yellowing paint, and severely out-of-date interior. She'd wandered the cold, drafty floors, not minding the gritty-looking, cracking wallpaper or the crooked staircase, elated at her opportunity for her fresh start.

But, on that third morning, before Jordan had even made it halfway through her first cup of tea, a series of hurried knocks resounded from behind the front door.

Grumbling, Jordan shuffled across the hardwood in her shaggy, pink slippers and mismatched pajamas, toting her tea along with her. She hadn't been there long enough to make any new acquaintances in the small town and the Sawyer property was shoved so far in the outskirts, far back against the thick woods, she had absolutely no idea who it could be.

The solid door swung back with a languid creak, revealing a disheveled man with dark circles around his eyes that nearly looked like bruises. His hair stuck up impossibly straight on one side, as if he'd fallen asleep in a puddle of glue, and his monochromatic, patchy clothes were crooked and wrinkled. His hands were quivering ever so slightly as he white-knuckled an umber accordion folder at his chest.

Jordan raised her eyebrows skeptically, placing her hand on the door in case she needed to slam it shut again. "Uh, hi?"

The man's eyes widened fractionally, staring silently for a moment before regaining his composure. "It is true then," he muttered as if he was speaking to himself. "Someone did buy this place-you bought this place." He shook his head, extending one arm out. "Jordan Jones? I'm Doctor Howard Roster. Do you have a moment?"

Inching the door closer to her body, Jordan dubiously eyed the stranger, ignoring his outstretched hand. He didn't look like a doctor. The khaki ensemble made him look more like a custodian than anything. "What do you want?"

He slowly withdrew his hand to his body, face faltering as he stood awkwardly on the porch. "I...I think you might be in danger."

Alarms went off inside Jordan's head. Stepping back, she attempted to shove the door closed, hindered by the booted foot that had slipped across the threshold.

"No, wait!"

Not waiting to hear what Roster had to say, Jordan hurried back to the kitchen, her mug slipping from her fingers in the process and falling to the floor-shattering it. She grabbed the phone from its cradle as she swung around the corner into the pantry, throwing the flimsy door shut behind her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! she chastised herself, pushing her back up against the door, effectively trapping herself.

With numb, shaking fingers she hit the power button, her thunderous heartbeat coming to a halt as she realized that the power still hadn't been turned on. The wireless never charged.

 _Tap! Tap!_

Jordan started at the polite knocking, dropping the phone as she jumped.

"I'm sorry!" Roster said, hurriedly. "I didn't mean to scare you! We need to talk."

"I'm not coming out!" Jordan hissed, pressing her weight more heavily against the door. "Go away!"

There was a pregnant pause.

The doorknob turned gently and Jordan's breath hitched, realizing her error far too late. The door swung away from her body, causing her to topple out onto the tiled kitchen floor.

"Oh!" Roster stumbled backwards in surprise. "Are-are you alright? I didn't realize..."

Jordan scrambled to her feet, grabbing the edge of the counter for support as her slippered feet slid across the slick surface in her haste, panicking Roster managing to creep up behind her. Hurriedly, she yanked open one of the draws, retrieving a kitchen knife from its contents as she was backed into a corner.

"Stay away!" she warned, holding it threatening out before her, trembling even as Roster paused, holding the folders before him like a shield.

He stepped back, blinking several times in succession as he watched her. "Take it easy! What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? What are you doing? Get out of my house!"

Roster sighed, appearing torn. After a moment, he relented, stepping carefully away from her. "Alright," he sighed, setting the folder on the counter as he retreated from the kitchen. "But read those...and call me as soon as you do. My card is inside."

He cast her a final, regretful glance before disappearing from the room.

Jordan remained, motionless, in the corner until she heard the front door close again. One, she counted, two...three. Swiftly, she hurried to the door, turning the lock and sliding the deadbolt before collapsing to the ground behind it.

She gasped, trying to slow her breathing as she curled up into a ball on the cold floor, knife still clenched in her fist.

* * *

 _15_ April, _2018_

 _North Haddonfield, Illinois_

 _The Sawyer Estates_

It took Jordan a full twenty-seven hours before her curiosity overtook her.

She'd pulled every piece of paper from the accordion folder, splaying them out on her kitchen table, sorting them in chronological order according to the dates.

There were newspaper clippings of a Sheriff's daughter found dead at the residence of a Verna Sawyer in Texas, patient documents of a Jackson Himmerson from a mental institution called Gorman House Youth Reformery; more newspaper clippings-a patient riot and full-scale escape from the Gorman House, multiple reports of dismembered bodies and gruesome 'works of art' of grave-robbed bodies propped in public areas on display, the obituaries of dozens of people, missing reports, and, most disturbingly, a couple police reports of a crime scene at Verna Sawyer's residence.

A teenager named Sally Hardesty filed a police report depicting a horrific tale of kidnap, torture, disfigurement, murder, and cannibalism.

Jordan's stomach churned as she read over each report.

A team of investigators went to the Sawyer house, only to be met with gunfire. A lethal showdown eliminated the Sawyer family, with the exception of a Jedidiah Sawyer, whose body was never found.

Another police report detailed an investigation of the Sawyer Estates, her new home. The former owner, Meredith Sawyer was Jedidiah's relative.

"His aunt," Jordan said, absently, cold sweat breaking out across her brow. Cannibalism...murder...torture. His aunt.

No evidence was found that Jedidiah was anywhere in Illinois, so the case was dropped, leaving police with a cold trail in Texas.

The final clipping was Meredith's obituary, leaving behind no surviving relatives.

Dry-mouthed and disoriented, Jordan grabbed her keys from the glass dish on the counter. She willed her feet to walk as quickly as they would go, slowed by nerves that rattled her entire body. She fumbled with the handle of her small sedan, slipping in the driver's seat and sped down the long driveway.

After a few miles, her phone finally pinged-she didn't get reception that far back...not for at least five miles in any given direction. Not bothering to pull over on the sparsely-traveled dirt road, Jordan hit the breaks a little too forcefully, causing the car to skid to a stop.

She dialed the numbers on the card, quaking as she waited through the rings.

"Hello, this is Doctor Ros-"

"What the fuck!"

"...Jordan?"

"What the _fuck_!"

"You read the files, I take it?"

Jordan bit her lip, willing her nerves to ease to no avail. "Why in Holy Hell would you give me those? Who are you?"

There was a pause on the phone broken with a shuffling sound, as if he was walking. "I worked as an intern under Doctor Lang," he said, "at the Gorman House."

"And?"

"Jackson's file I sent you... do you know the one?"

"Yes."

"Jackson is Jedidiah Sawyer. He's dangerous. I have reason to believe that he's been living at the Sawyer Estates, Jordan. It isn't safe."

"The-the police report said-"

"I know. I think they missed something. Meredith must have...she must have hidden him... Look, can we meet?"

* * *

 _Wednesday, 31 October 2018_

 _Haddonfield, Illinois_

 _Haddonfield Elementary School_

"Miss Jones!" Abigail Reid, a short redheaded girl with braided pigtails, stood on the other side of Jordan's desk, holding a, colorful paper plate scarecrow, smiling proudly. "Look! I finished it!"

Letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Jordan mustered up a smile for the girl. "Wow," Jordan whistled, appreciatively, "That is a fantastic scarecrow."

The students finished up, one-by-one, discussing their plans for Halloween night. Ian and Chris Donaldson had their heads leaned into one another in the classroom aisle, projects aside, heartedly debating which route they should take first for the best candy.

"Mr. Wilkerson gives out full-sized candy bars," Ian insisted.

Chris shook his head, a serious expression crossing his face. "Yeah, but everyone else on that block gives out the cheap candies! If we start on the Robinson's block, we'll be able to bank a better candy load per area canvassed. We're going to need to be as efficient as possible this year."

Jordan bit back a laugh, glancing at the clock again. Nearly there.

"Just don't let the Shape get you!" Krista Parsons keened, wiggling her fingers spookily in the air. "It's Myers night again! _Scree, scree, scree,_ screee!"

"That music doesn't play when you get murdered in real life, dummy!" Nate Vandenberg said.

"I'm not a dummy; you're a dummy!"

"That's enough," Jordan said, warningly, moving from her desk to stand in front of the children. "You shouldn't speak to each other that way!" She shivered, wondering what it was about the people in this town and their fascination with murderers. "And enough of Michael Myers-you know that's a myth don't you?"

"But it's not!" Abigail protested. "I lived next door to Tommy Doyle a couple years ago when the Shape came for the Strode girl." Her face turned a shade of pale as she locked eyes with Jordan. "They shot him. A lot. And he just...got back up."

The girl's gaze held steady for a moment until-

 _Briiiiiinnnnnggg!_

-the final bell sounded, and Abigail turned away to gather her books.

Jordan shook of the chill running along her spine and sighed. "Have a good night, kiddos! Stay safe and don't eat too much candy, please! We have class tomorrow-same time, same place!" She waved goodbye, waiting for the last of them to shuffle out of the classroom.

* * *

 _Do-do-doo..._

The telltale falling tone of the cellphone's signal being dropped echoed from the passenger seat as Jordan cruised along the windy backroads. The shadows of the tall white oaks, donning their autumn coats of orange foliage, had already begun casting shadows across the road as the sun sank lower in the sky.

25 miles from the school to her house and another 125 or so to Smith's Grove Sanitarium-where she was meant to meet Roster. His text seemed short and urgent but he refused to say what he wanted to meet about until they were face-to-face.

It's not as if Jordan hadn't heard all of his crazy theories before. In the months since they'd last met, they spent a great deal of time talking about Jedidiah Sawyer and searching every inch of the Estates to ensure that nobody was hanging around uninvited. And, despite the number of times a cut of meat would disappear from the freezer or how many times she swore something was misplaced or moved, she was certain that nobody had been taking up residence in the house.

Roster, on the other hand, would not let it go.

And, so, instead of curling up on her couch and marathoning horror films on Netflix as she graded homework assignments alone in her pajamas, she would be spending Halloween night driving to the Sanitarium. Again.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jordan caught a flash of white.

Swerving hard to the left to avoid the animal, she hit the breaks, bracing herself as the car careened dangerously close the downward-sloping embankment, coming to a stop just short of a rollover.

Her eyes were drawn to the rearview mirror despite believing that she didn't hit whatever it was that'd stepped out into the road, just to be sure. Instead of a deer, like she'd initially thought it was, a man stood behind her in the road, watching her through an expressionless white mask.

She shivered, locked in a staring contest through the mirror. "What kind of moron runs around in the woods dressed in their Halloween costume?" she muttered, easing the car forward again to continue her drive home.

* * *

Jordan juggled her bag of binders, purse, and coffee mug as she awkwardly unlocked the door, one knee raised in the air to help support the bags. Stumbling through the foyer, she shuffled to the kitchen, where she dumped everything blindly on the table.

She only had a few minutes to get changed and back on the road if she was going to meet Roster in time. Hustling, she managed to dig a pair of jeans and her favorite, silky long-sleeve from the pile of clean laundry and throw herself together, slapping play on the blinking answering machine as she passed by it.

 _"Hey, JJ!"_

The sound of her brother Rick's voice coming from the machine caused her to chuckle as she made her way back to the kitchen to search for her keys.

 _"I have a surprise for you! Mason finally managed to get some time off of_ work-so _we're heading over this weekend to finally see your new place!"_

 _"Surprise!"_ Mason, Rick's husband, sang in the background of the message.

 _"We'll be there for an entire week, so, do us a favor and clean out a guest room, huh?_

 _"Love ya, JJ-"_

 _"Call me!"_

 _"Call us back when you can."_

 _Beep!_

Standing at the kitchen table again, Jordan's grin slowly vanished. Her shoulders hunched and rounded with tension. On top of her pile of bags sat a bouquet of wilting black-eyed susans, mud-clumped roots still attached.

She swallowed dryly. Someone was in the house.

* * *

Notes: Timelines, settings and locations [people unfamiliar with the fandoms will not need to know this information as it is clarification for those of you who are familiar with either fandom]

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre took place in Texas, United States (obviously). In Texas Chainsaw 3D, it is established that Thomas/Jediah/Bubba/or whatever other names you'd prefer to call Leatherface by has a relative in Newt, Texas to which he flees in the aftermath of the Sawyer shootout (and yes, I've changed this plot point around, too). I've used this concept of Leatherface having a relative, only I moved her to Haddonfield, Illinois (the fictional setting of the Halloween movies) and then disregarded the remainder of the movie.

Texas Chainsaw Timelines, what to know:

-Plot points from Leatherface (2107): Establishing that Leatherface's name is Jedidiah Sawyer, The Gorgon House (and the escape thereof), the death of the Sheriff's daughter.

-Plot points from the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974): The grave robbing reference as well as using the corpses to make 'artwork', and, of course, Sally Hardesty's experience.

Halloween Timelines, what to know:

-Sticking to the aftereffects of the original Halloween for now.

Original Character [Jordan] Timelines, what to know:

-Jordan moved to Haddonfield for a fresh start and bought the Sawyer Estates in a closed auction held by the state in April [this chapter's 'present' is October] of 2018.

All TCM & Halloween movie events have occurred sometime within five [5] years of the current date [2018] instead of the years they happened in the movies.


	2. I Remember Halloween

_"Candy Apples and Razor Blades-  
Little Dead are Soon in Graves"_

Wednesday, 31 October 2018  
Haddonfield, Illinois

 _The Sawyer Estates_

Jordan placed her hands on her hips as she stared Officer Roth down, who let out an exasperated sigh. "Someone was in my home!" she persisted.

Roth shook his head, gesturing behind him at the face of the paint-chipped, fading house. "We've searched the whole place, Miss Jones," he held three fingers in the air between them, " three times on this call alone. We've been searching this property, time and again, ever since we'd gotten the tip about the Sawyer man. There hasn't been any indication that anyone here that wasn't supposed to be here in the five years we've been looking, and there isn't now."

Stomach churning unpleasantly as her heart sank, Jordan waved the Roth off. "But the flowers -"

"Look, Miss Jones..." the officer trailed off, rubbing the back of his head. His mouth twisted in uncertainty as he watched her. "I've read your files about the Psych facility back in Florida and, don't get me wrong or anything-"

"This is not in my head!"

"-but I think that maybe you'd outta think about getting some help." He gave her a sympathetic look that fueled a repressed rage inside of Jordan. "Doctor Lennox at the Memorial Hospital-"

Jordan crossed her arms over her chest, fighting the feeling inside of her that was pulling her into herself-the one that made her feel like she was going fold into her own body, turning her inside out and back again. "I don't need a psychiatrist," she muttered.

"-has done great work and, quite frankly, it's not going to take much more of this for the department to file a recommendation with the school board for psychiatric counselling."

Images bombarded her-

The cool concrete of the basement landing against her cheek, rubbed raw from the abrasive surface, had been a sleepy peace until the light seeping through the door bent beneath a brutal shadow. Ropes pulled tightly around her wrists and ankles, biting unforgivingly into the tender flesh, pulling almost too painfully far. The malign glint from the silver blade and the rattle of husky laughter sent Jordan's insides

A hand on her shoulder soothed her out of her nightmare, trembling and sweating, and back into reality. "And, for the love of God, stop talking to Roster-man's crazier than a zebra in running in the Preakness."

 _Is it in my head?_ Jordan stood silently as the police cruiser rolled down her winding driveway, glaring through its clear rear window. "It can't be," she said, her whisper lost to the breeze.

* * *

 _Smith's Grove Sanitarium_

Jordan's mind was still reeling when she pulled into the visitor's lot of the Sanitarium. Dusk had already fallen over the trimmed yard of the main entrance, only illuminated by the pale lights pouring from large, barred windows.

 _Bah-bing_! Jordan's phone beeped with yet another text from Roster. She was running over two hours late after having waited for Roth to show up and then waiting again for the officers to canvass the house and property.

She forced herself into a haze of existence, floating thoughtlessly passed the loud buzzing as the doors were opened; barely taking note of the pen in her hand as she signed in on the tablet and the mocking smile of the plastic, candy-toting Jack-O-Lantern on the receptionist's desk; ignoring the shuffle of nurses and doctors and patients; pressing back those memories beneath the sterile smell and harsh fluorescence.

I'm not losing it. Jordan padded down the narrow hall of offices, focusing on her breathing. I wasn't then. I'm not now.

I hope .

"I'm telling you," said a voice that poured from Roster's ajar door. "Michael has been waiting for Laurie to come back to Haddonfield and you've had her transferred right back here!"

Jordan paused, peering through the crack to see who was in the room but the angle didn't allow for it. She leaned in to listen as a female began speaking.

"Doctor Loomis," she began, authoritatively, "East Maloine transferred her back after a budget cut-they've referred all of the transfers they've had in the past four years back to the origin facilities. We weren't left with much of a choice-at least temporarily."

"She doesn't belong here," Loomis snapped. "She's in danger and she certainly doesn't belong in a sanitarium."

Roster hummed, sounding a bit distant from the conversation. "Strode began exhibiting similar symptoms as her brother," there was a shuffling of paper, "might be...genetic?"

"The main concern, of course, is the violent outburst to which Myers was prone."

"That is ridiculous," Loomis insisted. "There's nothing wrong with Laurie Strode. Michael Myers-"

"-is dead , Doctor Loomis," the woman cut in.

The room grew eerily silent for a moment before someone cleared their throat. "Well, if that's all..." Roster trailed off, an air of finality about it.

Jordan stumbled backwards as the door opened suddenly, revealing a thin-lipped woman with shiny auburn hair.

She paused, eyeing Jordan appraisingly and narrowed her eyes. "Can I help you with something?" Her crisp, clinical voice wasn't dissimilar to any other doctor she'd met-save, maybe, the eccentric Roster-complete with an undertone of hidden agendas and weighted questions.

"Ah, Jordan!" Roster said from behind the woman. "You've finally made it! Come in, come in."

The woman stepped aside, allowing Jordan to force a smile and slip into the office that was overcrowded with oversized furniture and messied stacks of books and papers.

Roster made a show of introducing Jordan to Doctor Loomis as Roth cast one last glance towards the room and walked away in an echo the fading tap, tap, taps of Oxford heels on vinyl tile. As the footsteps became faint, Roster's voice quieted. "Jordan is the new owner of the Sawyer Estates."

Doctor Loomis regarded her distractedly, placing his hands on his balding head in distress. "Sawyer Estates? You don't think...?"

Roster shrugged. "I'm still in firm belief that Jedidiah Sawyer is hiding somewhere on the Estates. I wouldn't be surprised if Myers was seeking refuge there, too, just until he could track down his sister."

Shaking his head, Loomis said, "No, people like Myers and people like Sawyer couldn't possibly be living together."

"Isn't Michael Myers an urban legend?" Jordan asked. "I mean, I know that he existed and killed his sister, but isn't his 'return' just a tall tale?"

Both men stopped to look at Jordan, confusing etching there features.

"Of course not," Loomis said. "What is wrong with the people in this town?"

"It's just...I overhead some of the children at school talking about him and when I asked a couple of the teachers-"

"Michael Myers escaped Smith's Grove four years ago," Roster explained, calmly tap, tap, tapping on his keyboard as he nodded at the monitor.

Loomis rounded on Jordan so quickly that she stepped back in surprise. "I'm sure you've heard the story: he murdered his sister as a child and was brought here...to the Juvenile Ward" His eyes grew distant as he spoke as if he was looking through Jordan. "He's not...not right. He was nothing more than a shell of a person when I'd met him. I'd never seen a child so emotionless and his eyes, these empty, black eyes...it might as well have been the devil staring at me through this child. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up, because I realized that what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply... evil.*

"And then he escaped.

"He just seemed to come to one night before I'd arrived...completely snapped out of his catatonia and opened some of the other patient's doors. When I made it, there were patients all over the yard and that's when he made off with my vehicle.

"He went after Laurie Strode, the youngest sister who had been put up for adoption and killed several people that night. He's not going to stop until Laurie is dead."

Jordan swallowed thickly. "So, he's real then? And...at my house?"

"No, I don't think so," Roster said. "Not if Sawyer is there anyway."

"The empty Sawyer Estates is the only place that makes sense...somewhere to hide for so long." Loomis shot back.

"Someone left flowers on my table," Jordan mumbled, interrupting the impending argument. " Someone is in my house and I don't care which psychopathic it is-"

"Psychopath doesn't begin to cover it," Roster mumbled.

"-but I want them out . The police said-"

Roster laughed. "You went to the police again? They never listen."

"-that they couldn't find anyone in the house. I left my bag in the kitchen, got changed, and by the time I got back someone had left flowers on it." Jordan crossed her arms over her body, becoming uncomfortable as both doctors regarded her with identical levels of confusion on their faces. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

Loomis was the first to speak. "Flowers?" he asked. "You-you're worried about flowers? " He threw his hands in the air, lost in exasperation.

"Are you certain you don't have a secret admirer, Jordan?" Roster asked.

"Secret-" Jordan scoffed. "Are you kidding me right now? Someone is... was ...in my house!"

Brrriiiing! Brrriiiing! Brrriiing!

The shrill calling of Jordan's cell caused her to jump slightly, breaking the tension that was welling inside of her. Of course, she thought bitterly, not even Roster will take me seriously.

Pulling her cell out of her bag, she glanced down at the number.

Brrriiiing! Brrriiiing! Brrriiing!

1-844-555-0101

Brrriiing! Brrriiiing! Brrriiiing!

It was her home phone.

Numb fingers pressed to answer and raised the cell to her ear. "Hello?"

 _THUD!_

The loud sound rang in her ears, then shuffling, and finally ragged, heavy hissing of uneven breathing on the other end. Something rattled from inside Jordan, transforming in her mind to memories.

"You'll never leave me." Excited words came in harsh whispers. "You're mine." Breathless from anticipation, from enjoying his own sick mind games.

"Mine."

Blood seeped across cold steel, dripping soundlessly to the floor.

"Mine."

The phone clicked and Jordan shook the memories from her head. The silence on the other end of the line was enough. She was not going to go home alone tonight, especially because, if she did, she would not be home alone.

* * *

Jordan stood beside Roster and Loomis, listening their quiet argument of whether or not they should be here, with Laurie Strode, or investigate the peculiarities at the Sawyer Estates. Roster argued that if either Jedidiah Sawyer or Michael Myers were hiding out at Jordan's house, it would be best to spread out and do another thorough search because there must be something that was missing. Loomis, on the other hand, thought that it would be a waste of time searching the Estates if Myers was going to return to try to Laurie.

"It'll be tonight, on Halloween, if he does," Loomis said, anxiously. "Now that we know he's after Laurie, he'll be back on the anniversary of Judith Myers murder. He won't stop until he's killed them all."

"If it's either of them, Jordan's in danger. Do you think either of them will hesitate to kill her ?"

Loomis folded his arms in front of his chest. "Well, they haven't yet."

"Yet."

Jordan's stomach hit the floor. Yet .

She was not going to be the victim of someone's psychotic games. Not again. "I'm not going back there by myself," she said. "Not after someone called me from inside my house . And the flowers-"

"Again with the flowers?" Roster scoffed.

"Someone is inside my house!" Frustration filled Jordan. It was the same frustration she had when he kept slipping away from the police after she'd escaped for nine full months. Nine months of filled with dread and anger that he was going to show up and finish her off this time. It was the way she felt when, even after being caught, he smiled at her in the courtroom, as if he'd just gone away on vacation and was excited to see his wife again. It was the same type of frustration she felt every time the local police came to the Sawyer estate and told her she was being paranoid.

"Look, since that guy-" she nodded her head at Loomis, who raised his eyebrows at her, "wants to stay here, why doesn't he? And then at least you could come back with me and then everyone is covered?"

The two men shared a silent moment of consideration before Loomis finally spoke. "That does make the most sense." He glanced between Jordan and Roster gravely. "If it is Michael...I don't know how to kill him-to stop him. He's taken gunshots and stood back up from it. Be careful."

* * *

 _The Sawyer Estates_

The heavy front door swung open with an unearthly groan, the weight pulling against the too-old hinges whose eerie protest sent chills racing up Jordan's spine. Taking great care as to not make any further noise so as not to alert any potential serial killers hiding out in her house, she took slow, tentative steps with Roster bringing up the rear, treading just as carefully.

It didn't take more than a few paces into the house to realize that something was amiss.

No. Not something .

Everything.

Beyond the foyer, Jordan could see that the couch had been moved-shoved to touch the far wall as flush as possible to open up the middle of the room, unfolded clothes and all. In fact, Jordan could see the room quite well, despite the darkness outside, because of the remarkable display of candles, alight with flickering flames that danced in an imperceivable draft. They were everywhere-along the floorboards, on the sills, on the mantle and coffee table.

It was a wonder the house hadn't burnt to the ground.

"Been redecorating?" To Jordan, Roster's uneasy, joking whisper sounded closer to a shout through the tension swirling around the room. She was sure that it had broken the atmosphere and prepared herself for the catastrophic after-effects that were sure to follow.

But nothing happened.

Stepping further into the room, Jordan noticed the carpet-or, rather, the that was on the carpet. More candles were carefully placed between purposefully deposited bones -small, cleaned and bleached a hauntingly beautiful white-all to form a poorly-crafted heart, uneven at the sides and lumpy around the curves. Laid directly in the center was the bouquet from earlier, the wilting flower petals seeming much less sinister now in comparison to their surroundings.

A hand on her shoulder sent her stumbling to the side, knocking over a candle in her wake, whose flame drown in its own wax as it toppled over.

"Easy!" Roster said. "It's still just me."

"Does this remind you of anything?" Jordan gestured to the room, hoping that Roster would be able to at least identify who was in the house by their strange display. Somehow, she hoped that knowing who it was would help them.

Roster stooped low, examining the catastrophe in her living room with an unwarranted appreciative and quizzical face. "A bit, actually. It's rather interesting, really." It was as if he was speaking more to himself than Jordan at this point, mumbling and humming as he prodded at a few of the bones. "During the Sawyer families reign, corpses would pop up around town from grave robberies. The strange thing was that they would be dismantled and put back together - displayed as art."

"Art," Jordan scoffed, her stomach churning. "Yeah, I remember that from the newspaper clippings."

"When they raided the house, hidden in the basement where they found..." Standing, Roster shook off whatever haunting memories had begun plaguing him. "Well, that's not important. But there were hordes of intricately-weaved 'pieces of art' made from the bones and skin of the victims. Jedidiah Sawyer had a knack for making artwork from human remains."

"Are...are those human bones?" Bile quickly rose up Jordan's throat, leaving a burning trail behind.

Roster shook his head. "No, they're more likely to be something closer to squirrels or birds - I'm not really all that sure. I mean, I'm no anthropologist, but those are awfully small to be human remains, aren't they?"

Jordan reached for the phone on one of the relocated side tables, her hands beginning to tremble. "I'm calling the police."

Roster began slowly following the trail of candles towards the kitchen. "What are they going to do? Come and search the property again? Accuse us of being crazy again?"

"I don't care," she snapped, clicking the receiver on and punching in the numbers to the local police. "Where are you going? We should leave!" She waited impatiently as the line rang, glancing between Roster, who was ignoring her, and the still-open door.

"Haddonfield Police Department. Please hold."

"Hold? Hold! What kind of Police Department-"

" If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1 for emergency services. Please hold while-"

Beep!

Jordan hung up, rolling her eyes, before phoning 911 and following after Roster, who had already disappeared around the corner to the small kitchen.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Yes, hello? Hi! This is Jordan J-"

Click. The kitchen light blinked off along with the digital clock display on the stove.

Her eyes widened at the dull sound of the line being disconnected. "Hello? Hello!"

"He...cut the power?" Roster was standing at the pantry, peering through the opened door. "Does your fuse box happen to be in your...second basement?"

"Second basement?" Jordan peered over his shoulder and into the cramped pantry. A portion of the wall had been slid to the side, allowing for the candles to continue on down a narrow staircase and disappear around a sharp corner.

Roster nodded, his face finally reflecting the gravity of the situation. "A wine cellar, most likely. But the last time we searched the house, I remember the fuse box in the basement...the regular basement...right?"

Screeetch. Clang! Creeeaak.

Jordan jumped, stepping away from the pantry and the noises below. "He's down there?" she whispered, heart hammering in her chest and panic beginning to cause her breath to come in short, stunted bursts.

"I would think so. Only," he glanced at Jordan warily over his shoulder, "if he's down there...who's in the basement with the fusebox?"

* * *

Notes:

Chapter title and beginning quote: Lyrics from Halloween by the Misfits

*quote: paraphrased quote taken from the original Halloween film

And we're still practicing onomatopoeia because I hate myself, apparently :P.


End file.
